


Mercy

by Lady_in_Red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, post-adwd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime finds himself at the mercy of Lady Stoneheart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> For the J/B Shuffled Challenge, inspired by “Bleeding Out” by Imagine Dragons
> 
> This is by far the darkest, least shippy thing I've written for this fandom. You've been warned.

Jaime had no idea where he was. A scant two hours after leaving his camp with Brienne, two men had stepped out onto the dark road in front of them and before he could draw his sword something had smashed into his skull.

When he came to, Jaime was lashed to his horse with a sack over his head. It smelled strongly of onions. He listened to the voices around him, trying to decide how many men there were.

“I know you’re awake, Kingslayer.”

That was an ill omen. “Blackfish? I did not realize you needed maidens to do your dirty work.”

The bag, yes, an onion sack, was pulled off his head. Jaime noted a smear of red on the sack as it was pulled away. His head ached, and his hand was numb, bound as it was with his right elbow. Someone had relieved him of the golden hand. Not that it did him much good.

“All tools have their uses,” the Blackfish replied soberly. The Tullys were nearly as humorless as the Starks.

Jaime turned his head. There was Brynden Tully, along with four riders. He turned the other way. At least two more, plus Brienne trussed up just as tightly as he was. Her head was not covered, but her eyes were closed and there was a gash above her eye. “Why hurt the wench? I trust she did what you asked.”

“No, she was to kill you herself. She failed.” His tone was clipped. “Now she’ll pay the price for treason, same as you.” Something ahead of them caught the Blackfish’s attention.

Jaime turned his head again and tried to look around the horse’s flank. There was a fire off to one side of the path, but he couldn’t see very well. So Brienne was to kill him. She had lured him out of his camp sure enough, but that wasn’t enough for the Blackfish.

Jaime began to wonder if Brynden Tully had acquired a trebuchet.

Brienne groaned. As her eyes opened, Jaime watched for her reaction. Her eyes were wide but unfocused for a moment, then she seemed to take in her surroundings and sought him out. Their eyes locked. She was scared. _She’s met these people before, and she fears them._ That did not bode well for either of them should their fates now be linked.

The horses pulled up near the fire and Jaime was unceremoniously heaved off the horse to tumble onto the hard-packed dirt. A grunt and a thump to his right was Brienne hitting the ground.

“Ser, my lady?” A boy’s voice croaked, behind them.

Brienne flopped about like a fish, turning herself onto her side to look behind them, around the fire. “Podrick? Ser Hyle, are you there?” Her voice was hoarse, far rougher than he remembered it.

“Aye, my lady. Wishing we’d taken ship to Tarth from Maidenpool, I must admit.” That voice was deeper, a man grown. This must be Ser Hyle. Jaime cast about his memories for a Ser Hyle and came up empty. He was going to take Brienne home?

“We should end this,” the Blackfish said to a man just out of Jaime’s sightline. He wiggled around a bit and was surprised to see Thoros of Myr, the old pink pretender himself.

“Thoros, since when do you run with the fishes?” Jaime attempted a light tone, but being bound hand and foot was beginning to wear on him.

Thoros and Brynden looked over at him but did not answer. “Where?” Brynden asked.

Thoros pointed to the far side of the fire, where a shadow was emerging from the woods.

Jaime watched it approach, and the men around the fire all fell silent. The figure wore a filthy grey cloak, the deep hood covering its face. Beric Dondarrion.

There was a choked sound, and Jaime realized with a sickening lurch that Brienne was weeping.

The figure approached slowly around the fire, and finally raised its hands to pull the hood away. Hands gray and swollen, rotten looking. The face that emerged would haunt Jaime’s nightmares for the rest of whatever life remained to him. Lady Catelyn Stark, her skin shredded, gray, beginning to rot off her skull. Her throat slashed from ear to ear and putrifying flesh pulling away from the gaping hole.

Jaime fought a strong urge to vomit and risked a quick glance at Brienne. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes were swollen and red in the firelight. “Jaime,” she whispered, broken. _I’m sorry_ hung in the air, unspoken but he knew it anyway. The bandage covering her cheek had fallen away during the ride, exposing a livid red wound that looked as if something had taken a large bite out of her broad face. _Seven hells, what have I done to her?_

“Kingslayer.” The voice was a hiss through her gaping throat. Jaime looked back, and found her burning eyes upon him. They were filmed milky white, yet he knew she could still see him. “You crippled my son. Then you sent this whore to butcher my daughters with Lannister steel.”

“No, I—” Brienne protested until a man’s swift boot to her back stole her breath.

“Whore? I see only the Maid of Tarth, who never stopped searching for your daughters.” Jaime sounded bolder than he felt. That was becoming distressingly common as of late.

“Yes, searching with this.” Lady Catelyn drew Oathkeeper from the folds of her cloak. It made Jaime’s skin crawl to see it in her hands. She drew the blade, dropping the scabbard in the dirt.

“It was re-forged from Ice. I thought she could—” Jaime took his own boot to the back as he lay in the dirt. The pain lanced through him. A broken rib, perhaps two.

“I know what you thought. I should take your head.”

Rough hands yanked Jaime up onto his knees. The edge of the blade caressed the side of his throat. Jaime looked at Brienne. She was furious, her blue eyes the brightest thing in the world.

Jaime tilted his head away from the blade, giving Stoneheart better access. He stared up at that horror, a lion to the end. “Shall we count my sins, Lady Stark? The Mad King? Your son? I won’t apologize for Aerys, and I’m only sorry your son was crippled. I meant to kill him. What other sins would you lay at my feet?”

“Robb,” Stoneheart hissed.

“I had naught to do with that, and you know it.” Jaime risked a look at Brienne, whose face crumpled as she struggled against her bonds. “Go on, do it.” Her grief was too much to bear. It was always going to end this way.

Jaime closed his eyes and slipped away to a shallow brook near Maidenpool.

“Bring him.” Stoneheart stepped back from Jaime, leaving a slight cut on his neck as she pulled the steel away. Jaime opened his eyes as she beckoned to someone at her right.

A young boy, bound hand and foot as they were, was dragged into the firelight and placed on his knees before her. This must be Brienne’s Podrick. A thin child, brown hair cut roughly and falling into his eyes. An angry welt marred his throat. Of course, she would pick up an orphaned child on the road. Then a man was dragged in and forced to his knees. Dark hair, bruised face, the same welt at his throat and a sigil Jaime did not recognize on his coat. Ser Hyle then.

Unease prickled through Jaime. Man and boy had been placed facing Brienne, not Stoneheart.

Hyle looked straight at Brienne. “You should not have come back.” His rough voice was bleak, his eyes hollow.

Brienne swallowed hard, looked up at Stoneheart. “You swore you’d let them go.” She was unaccountably fierce, lying there utterly prone. Even bound she looked dangerous, more the bear than the maiden.

Stoneheart made a rattling sound that Jaime knew too well. It was uncomfortably close to Ser Ilyn’s laugh. “You swore to kill the Kingslayer.”

Jaime knew then the bargain Brienne had struck. His life for theirs, the boy and the man. Were they worth so much to her? More than a crippled oathbreaker surely.

“Mercy, please. They’ve done nothing but travel with me. They are no part of this,” Brienne begged.

Stoneheart was silent. Finally she said, “Mercy for the boy.” She reached down, grabbed him by the hair, and slashed his throat in one sure movement.

Oathkeeper ran red and Brienne screamed. The boy’s eyes fluttered and his mouth worked, as if not yet sure what had happened. Blood poured down the front of his tunic. Brienne howled as he dropped to the ground like a broken marionette.

Ser Hyle lunged at Stoneheart, and the blade slid cleanly through his belly. Stoneheart pulled it free, and Hyle collapsed in the dirt, gasping, as the boy’s spreading blood reached him. He looked back at Brienne, and his eyes closed. Jaime was relieved. A wound like that could take hours to kill a man. Hours of agony. He’d seen it before, on a long-ago battlefield when he was too young to understand the need for mercy.

“You swore,” Brienne screamed, struggling against her bonds. He’d never seen such fury in her. “You swore you would ask nothing of me to bring me dishonor.” Her voice broke, but she struggled on. “Then you ordered me to kill the man who saved my life. Kill him or they die. Where is the honor in that?”

Lady Stoneheart ignored her, gesturing to two of her men. They grabbed Brienne and yanked her up, pulling her away from the fire. A knot formed in Jaime’s stomach. _Not again._ This time he would not be able to protect her.

“No, please, no,” Jaime found himself pleading.

“The whore shares your fate,” Brynden Tully spat.

Two more men grabbed Jaime by the arms and hauled him away. They lashed Jaime and Brienne to trees about ten feet apart, facing each other.

Stoneheart approached them, Oathkeeper in her hand, her cloak trailing through Podrick’s blood.

A grotesque smile spread across her face. The slashes in her cheeks gaped. Jaime could see skull shining under the skin. Slowly, deliberately, Lady Stoneheart stabbed deep into Jaime’s thigh, then Brienne’s. The wench made no sound, but her jaw was clenched so tight Jaime thought she might crack her teeth.

When she was done, Stoneheart tossed Oathkeeper between them, well out of their reach. She turned and walked away.  The other men began packing their things.

“They’re leaving us here. Brienne, they’re going,” Jaime hissed.

Brynden Tully approached. “You misunderstand, Kingslayer. You could have had a quick death. That was the mercy your whore was offered. But her woman’s weakness earned you this death instead.”

“Tied to a tree to bleed? I’ve survived worse,” Jaime scoffed.

“Aye, but wolves smell blood, and you’ve two fresh corpses right there.” Brynden Tully turned to leave. “Before morning you will wish the ugly bitch had slit your throat.”

Within the space of five minutes, the camp was gone, the men departed. The only evidence they’d been there was the guttering fire, the bodies, and the sword shimmering like a mirage in the fallen leaves.

Time passed. How much Jaime did not know. Brienne did not speak.

The wolves began to howl. Somewhere the gods were laughing. Throw one boy from a bloody tower and the wolves would never forget.

It was no wonder so many wolves roamed the Riverlands, with fresh corpses handily strung up for them like offerings.

The coppery odor of blood hung heavy in the sharp cold air.  

“Who were they?” Jaime asked finally. “This man and this boy that you would trade me for.”

Brienne took a shuddering breath. “Podrick… was… my squire. Your brother’s too.” She faltered. “Hyle… left Lord Tarly’s service to go with us. He wanted Tarth.”

A cough startled both of them. In the firelight, Jaime saw movement. Twenty feet away, Hunt’s hand twitched.

The man groaned, and said through gritted teeth, “I wanted _you_.”

Hope lit her face like a beacon. Something dark twisted in Jaime’s gut. “Ser, I thought—”

“I’m dying, Brienne. Call me Hyle. Please.” He looked up, caught Jaime’s eye. Torment was writ in every feature, the tight set of his jaw, the blood smeared across his cheek, the brightness of his swollen eyes. He’d been beaten before tonight, and more than once. Hunt’s gaze flicked to Brienne for an instant, then back to Jaime.

Jaime understood and nodded. _She lives. Damn the cost._

Ser Hyle rolled onto his side, looking down at his stomach. Blood and mud soaked his tunic, but it was hard to tell what was his and what was the boy’s. The angle was wrong for the firelight to show much. Jaime could not tell how bad the wound was, but he trusted the other knight’s judgment.  

“Hyle, is Pod—” she couldn’t finish the question.

“He was dead before he hit the ground,” Jaime said flatly. The boy’s life was already soaking into the dirt.

Hyle looked back at Oathkeeper, then flipped onto his back, a cry ripping from his throat. “I won’t—” He pushed with his heels, inching backward. Oathkeeper had run him through. He’d be pushing dirt and rocks into his wound now. “—let you die too.”

Jaime watched the man struggle to push himself along the ground, inch by inch. He was leaving a blood trail, but he did not stop. 

“Do either of you know where we are? Should we escape, I’d rather not be captured again on the morrow,” Jaime asked, shivering. Between the cold, his pounding head, and the blood oozing out of his throbbing, wounded leg, Jaime was not sure he’d present much of a challenge for an attacker even if they did get free.

Brienne frowned. “Near the Red Fork, somewhere east of Riverrun.”

A wolf’s howl rose into the frigid air again, closer than last time. This time it was answered all around them. Half a hundred voices raised to the bright moon.

Ser Hyle had moved perhaps a quarter of the distance he needed to, and his face was twisted in a grimace. Sweat slicked his face. “Someone talk. It’s too … bloody quiet,” Hunt panted. He was scrabbling in the dirt with his hands now, too, but it was awkward with them tied behind his back. He flopped on his side and tried to move that way instead. His back was to Jaime and he could see that it was covered in grit and crushed leaves, stained dark with blood.

With Hyle facing her, Brienne’s blue eyes fixed solidly on his face.

When she didn’t speak, Jaime voiced the question that had been bothering him. “Why did the Blackfish insist upon calling Brienne my whore?”

“The Blackfish?” Brienne echoed, her eyes darting up to him. Her cheeks were red, though from embarrassment or cold Jaime couldn’t say.

“The disagreeable man who brought us here. Brynden Tully. He escaped when I broke the siege at Riverrun,” Jaime explained.

“You besieged Riverrun?” There it was, that expression of dumb revulsion he hadn’t seen from her since King’s Landing.

“No, I ended the siege. Peacefully, mind you, and I’ll thank you to stop assuming the worst of me every bloody time.” Jaime was irritated by the petulant tone of his voice. He had done nothing wrong here. Unless you counted threatening children, and the Blackfish certainly did.

“Ser, I—”

“Spare me, wench. Then tell me how brave Ser Hyle here managed to win the fair Lady Brienne.” This was monstrously cruel, with the man dying before them, but he knew his tongue could wound her far easier than any blade and just then it pleased him to hurt her.

Brienne’s eyes snapped up to meet his, blazing, but she said nothing.

It was Hyle who responded, resting on his back. He was still less than halfway to the sword, and Jaime had no idea what he intended to do once he got there. Hyle turned his head to look at Jaime. “I did not win the Maid. She threatened to geld me when I proposed.” He laughed, until the pain of it stole his breath. “Seems some thrice-damned fool already gave her his sword and she swore a vow to him.”

Jaime opened his mouth to retort, but could not bring himself to mock the dying knight. Brienne’s face darkened and her eyes fell to Oathkeeper, as if Jaime had any doubt which fool Hyle blamed for all this.

Something small scrabbled in the leaves nearby. Jaime scanned the dark trees around them. The dry carpet of fallen leaves would alert them to anything coming, but the shifting firelight and the bright moon created deep wells of shadow that things, or men, could easily hide in.

Hyle began to move again. His boots scuffed against the ground, his increasingly labored breathing mixed with frequent gasps of pain.

Jaime’s leg was beginning to throb worse as his muscles tensed with the cold spreading up from the ground. “Brienne, how is your leg?” he finally asked.

She shifted against the rough tree bark with a wince. “No worse than the prick you gave me,” Brienne answered gruffly.

That drew another sharp, short laugh from Hyle, followed by a string of muttered curses.

“When we are far from this place, warm and safe somewhere clutching goblets of decent wine, I will have the tale of how you came to be here,” Jaime said with far more conviction than he felt, his eyes moving between the ruin of her cheek and the matching red ribbon of rope burn at her throat. _Gods, they must have been hanged, all three of them._

“Arbor Gold,” Hyle grunted. “And a pretty, willing tavern girl,” he added with a particularly violent movement forward.

Jaime barked a laugh. “Indeed. Arbor Gold and a willing—” he almost said wench and bit it back “—girl for Ser Hyle.” He turned to Brienne. “What comforts would please you, my lady?”

She closed her eyes and said almost dreamily, “A hot meal, a bath, and a featherbed.”

“How dull. Is there nothing else you’d like?” Jaime teased. He’d meant only to distract her from their current dire circumstances, but the thought of Brienne in the bath pulled his mind straight back to Harrenhal.

Her eyes opened and locked with his. “What do you want, Jaime?” The question was perfectly innocent, naught but exhaustion in her voice.

Still, the question brought to mind far sweeter tortures than those they’d suffered tonight. Jaime shifted against the frozen ground, fighting a highly inappropriate surge in his cock.

The leaves rustled behind Brienne. She tensed, turning side to side looking for the source of the noise. “Do you see it?” she hissed.

The noise continued, a rhythmic crunching, and then Jaime did see it and he wished he hadn’t. “It’s a direwolf.”

Hyle twisted and caught sight of it too. He pushed harder, flailing, cursing as he struggled to close the distance to Oathkeeper.

It was huge, grey with shining yellow eyes, stalking through the woods. The pups the Stark girls brought south hadn’t been this massive. The Stark girls. Of course. Arya had run off with her wolf after it bit Joffrey, and when Arya came back the wolf was not with her.

Hyle was only a few feet away from the sword now. His breathing was loud and shallow.

Jaime pulled his legs up close to his body to present a smaller target. He might get in one solid kick to the thing’s muzzle before it ripped out his throat. He saw Brienne follow his lead.

The wolf growled as it approached, a deep rolling rumble exposing a row of sharp teeth. There was dried blood on its muzzle and Jaime could smell rotten meat on its fetid breath.

From behind the fire, footsteps approached at a run. The wolf stopped and turned to see who would dare intrude on its feast.

The cloaked figure was too big to be Stoneheart and carried a blacksmith’s hammer.

“Gendry?” Brienne cried.

The figure looked up, but did not answer, circling around them.

The direwolf bared its teeth at the newcomer, and padded slowly over to Ser Hyle, whose eyes were closed. He must have passed out. It sniffed him, moved on. The direwolf stood in front of Jaime now, sniffed at him and growled again. It must be at least five feet tall at the shoulder.

The cloaked man swiftly moved between the wolf and Jaime, holding up his hammer. He ripped his hood back, exposing thick black hair.

The wolf whined at him and backed off. The man pushed forward, standing over Hyle.

“Gendry, what are you doing?” Brienne hissed.

“She knows me. I don’t know why, but she won’t hurt me. At least not for awhile,” Gendry insisted. The wolf turned and stalked away.

Jaime laughed, loud and bitter, even though each breath stabbed through him. “How does Arya Stark’s thrice-damned direwolf know you, boy?”

Gendry froze. “Arya’s wolf?” He turned to regard the wolf pacing in the distance. “We came out of King’s Landing together. We were friends. The Hound took her, a long time ago.”

Gendry pulled a dagger from his belt and dropped the hammer. He went to Brienne and started cutting her loose from the tree.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

Gendry finished cutting her from the tree and sawed through the ropes at her feet. “You defended the children at the inn. We owe you more than this death.”

Brienne turned to the side to allow him access to the ropes binding her hands. “You killed Biter. You owe me nothing.”

That told Jaime everything he needed to know about the wound on her cheek. She had been gone four turns of the moon, and in that time been bitten savagely, hanged, and watched her squire executed. Jaime wished suddenly that he’d put her on a ship back to Tarth rather than on this cursed quest. His honor was not worth this.

Gendry finished cutting Brienne loose and approached Jaime. As he got closer, Jaime’s eyes narrowed. “You’re one of Robert’s.”

Gendry’s face was hard, but those blue eyes were unmistakable. “So I’ve been told. Your woman called me Renly.” He sawed through the ropes around Jaime’s ankles.

At that Jaime’s face twisted. “Renly, wench? This one’s not pretty enough to be Renly.”

Brienne was gingerly rubbing feeling back into her hands. “I was fevered,” she muttered, pushing herself to her feet, testing if her wounded leg would hold her weight. “I said many things.”

Gendry chuckled at that. “Aye, you did,” he agreed with a smirk directed at Jaime as he finished cutting him loose. Gendry picked up his fallen hammer, and went back to Brienne. “Come with me,” he said, putting her arm over his shoulders to help her walk. As they made their way back the way Gendry had come, he looked over his shoulder and told Jaime, “Cut your friend free if he lives. I’ll be back.”

Somehow Jaime was not convinced the bastard would return. Yet there was nothing else to do, so he gingerly picked up Oathkeeper and cut Hyle’s bonds.

Hyle’s eyes opened, glazed with pain. He grabbed Jaime’s stump hard. “You know what needs to be done,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Jaime nodded. He was glad Brienne wasn’t here to see it, though. “Is that what you want?”

Hyle grimaced. “I die either way. Make it quick.”

“I can do that much,” Jaime promised. He stood, pain shooting down his leg. “Ready?”

Ser Hyle nodded and closed his eyes.

Jaime drew back and thrust the blade true through the man’s heart.

Jaime staggered away in the direction Gendry had taken Brienne, stumbling over every root and rock. His throbbing, bloody leg dragged, his ribs screamed with each breath, and he could barely grip Oathkeeper anymore. He fell once, and nearly did not get back up, but Gendry appeared and dragged Jaime the rest of the way.

The trees thinned abruptly and the Red Fork spread out before them, moonlight sparkling off the calm water. There was a canoe pushed up on the shore, Brienne lying in it, her eyes closed.

Another trip down the Red Fork with the wench. That did not end so well the last time. Still Jaime climbed in, laying Oathkeeper beside Brienne.

“Where’s the other one?” Gendry asked.

“Dead,” Jaime replied flatly.

Gendry nodded and shoved the boat out into the river. Jaime did not look back as the current pulled them away.

All along the shore, the wolves howled.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the following lyrics:
> 
> If the last thing that I do  
> is to bring you down  
> I bleed out for you  
> So I bare my skin  
> and I count my sins  
> and I close my eyes  
> and I take it in  
> And I’m bleeding out  
> I’m bleeding out for you  
> \- "Bleeding Out," Imagine Dragons


End file.
